


i want your horror, i want your design

by drusillaes



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Coven, American Horror Story: Hotel
Genre: Cordelia Goode loves all her witch daughters equally, Deals With The Devil, F/F, Femslash, Queenie is Tired, Smut, Witch Bisexual Meets Ghost Bisexual -You'll Never Believe What Happens Next!, and that includes breaking ryan murphy canon, s8 doesn't exist, there is nothing Countess Elizabeth Johnson March cannot do when she sets her mind to it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 05:43:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19311808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drusillaes/pseuds/drusillaes
Summary: In order to free Queenie from the Hotel Cortez, Cordelia Goode makes a deal with a dangerous woman.





	i want your horror, i want your design

**Author's Note:**

> for the remainder of Pride Month, I'm taking requests for any LGBTQ+ AHS ships. If this interests you, leave a ship and a 1-6 word prompt of what you'd like the fic to be about in the comments. The more unusual, the better. I will not write incest, pedophilia, or necrophilia.

“I’ll let her go for you, my dear.”

Cordelia’s not easily startled, but she spins, one hand on her heart. The woman standing in the doorway is one of the most beautiful women Cordelia has ever seen. She wears a gold dress that looks almost molten on her statuesque body, and holds a smoking cigarette in a metal-gloved hand.

“I beg your pardon,” Cordelia says.  
“Miss Cordelia, whatever she wants, don’t do it,” Queenie urges. The woman’s eyes flicker to Queenie only briefly before returning to Cordelia.

“Who are you?” Cordelia demands.  
“The better question would be who _you_ are,” the woman purrs. She takes a drag from her cigarette and blows out a cloud of smoke like an old timey movie star. “You are trespassing in my hotel, after all. Unless you’ve paid for a room here?”

“My name is Cordelia Goode,” Cordelia says coolly. “I am the Supreme of the American Witch Coven.”  
“A pleasure, I’m sure.” Instead of being intimidated, the other woman looks like the cat who ate the canary. She extends the gloved hand not holding the cigarette, and Cordelia takes it hesitantly.  
“Cordelia _Goode_ ,” murmurs the woman. “Interesting.”

“And who are you?”  
“Cordelia, don’t,” Queenie repeats, but the woman waves her off as though she were an annoying fly.

“These new spirits, always with the begging,” she says, and her words are cruel but her tone is honeyed. “They call me the Countess around here, but _you_ , darling, can call me Elizabeth.”

“You’re Elizabeth March,” Cordelia realizes. She and Zoe had done their reading before Cordelia had travelled here, and this woman has the same piercing eyes as the woman in the 1920s wedding photo.

“Very good,” Countess March purrs. “I’m here to offer you a deal, Miss Goode.” Her formality seems mocking, somehow.  
Cordelia stiffens her spine. “What do you have to offer me?”

“Your dear Queenie, of course. Alive and back to normal. I can’t cast the spell myself, of course, but I can help you.”  
“I’ve tried hundreds of spells to get her out of this place,” Cordelia replies. “What makes you so sure yours will work?”  
“Because mine _has_ worked, dear.”The Countess offers no other explanation.

“It’s not worth it,” Queenie protests, but Cordelia shakes her head. “Anything is worth it to get you out of this hell, Queenie,” she insists, stroking the other girl’s cheek. “You’re one of my coven, and we never leave our sisters behind.”

 

 

That’s how Cordelia ends up in the lounge with Elizabeth March, drinking needlessly complicated drinks in elegant glasses. Elizabeth’s changed into another dress, this one a burgundy velvet that makes Cordelia feel inferior in her simple black traveling dress.

“You must have a lot of power as Supreme,” Elizabeth muses. She sips elegantly from her drink. “Tell me, do they all bend to your will, or only the women?”  
Cordelia eyes her with a mix of curiosity and disdain. She makes no move to reach for her own glass. “Something tells me you know more about power and control than I do, Countess March.”  
“Elizabeth, please.”

“As you wish.”

Elizabeth catches Cordelia’s hand in her own. Her fingers trace the red band around Cordelia’s ring finger, where her wedding ring had left a mark after her finger swelled around it.  
“You were married,” Elizabeth observes. “I was too. Technically, still am.”

She lets go of Cordelia’s hand. “What happened?”

“What always happens with men,” Cordelia says, and her world-weary sigh makes Elizabeth chuckle. “Oh, my dear. You’re far too young to be so tired of men.”  
“Men can be exhausting,” Cordelia retorts, and Elizabeth tilts her head in acknowledgement. “I suppose you’re right about that. Their endless need to corrupt, to possess.” She has Cordelia’s chin grasped between two slender fingers, and tilts it. “You have a jawline for _days_ , my dear Cordelia.” Her tongue traces the syllables of Cordelia’s name like it’s somehow dirty.

“Thank you,” Cordelia says, keeping her voice steady. Elizabeth releases Cordelia and stands in a single, fluid movement. “Would you walk me back to my rooms, Cordelia?”

Cordelia finds herself agreeing before she can even think it through. The Countess holds out her arm like the old-fashioned lady she is, and Cordelia takes her by the crook of her elbow.

 

Cordelia doesn’t remember agreeing to come into the Countess’s rooms but here she is, examining their surroundings with the proper mix of deference and awe.  
“It’s very beautiful here,” she says.

“Beauty begets beauty,” Elizabeth replies mildly.

“You must be used to people telling you you’re beautiful,” Cordelia says, turning around. Elizabeth is already naked, her burgundy dress pooling around slender ankles. Gorgeous ankles, and the legs that are attached to them are the sort of legs one only sees on Greek statues. Desire pools within Cordelia, desire of the type she hasn’t felt since Hank.

“You’re naked,” Cordelia blurts out, surprised, and Elizabeth chuckles. “Don’t get shy on me now, my love.”  
“I’m…not.” But Cordelia continues to stare at this beautiful, ethereal creature. “You really want to do this? With me?”  
With barely a whisper of fabric, Elizabeth is suddenly behind Cordelia, roaming hands finding the witch’s waist. “It’s not every day one gets to be fucked by the Queen of the Witches,” she murmurs, her clever hands undoing the buttons of Cordelia’s dress and letting it fall to the floor. Cordelia unfastens her own bra, and meets Elizabeth’s eyes as she slides her white underwear to the floor.

“Beautiful,” Elizabeth whispers reverently, and then she’s pulling Cordelia onto the bed on top of her. It bounces under their weight, and Cordelia leans forward to kiss Elizabeth, who tastes of the heady cocktail they’d been drinking, and something else -something primal and animalistic.

“You taste like magic,” Elizabeth says, one of her hands coming up to brush loose hair away from Cordelia’s face. For a woman who radiates pure sensuality, her touches are innocent and tender. “If I were still alive, I confess, I would drink your blood. I would have no control over the matter.” Elizabeth looks almost childishly embarrassed to admit it.

“Oh,” Cordelia says weakly, because she really shouldn’t be expected to focus with Elizabeth’s perfect breasts brushing up against her chest, and what does one say to that anyway?

“But I’m not, my dear. So I have to find new ways to taste you.” And then Elizabeth’s clever hand is buried in Cordelia’s cunt, and the Supreme is causing a power outage when she comes.

 

 

Queenie is waiting for them in the hallway when they step out, Elizabeth in a deliciously gossamer bathrobe that leaves nothing to the imagination and Cordelia wearing her black dress, only half buttoned, and her black shiny shoes on the wrong feet. Queenie raises an eyebrow.

“Thank you, my dear,” Elizabeth murmurs, and presses a lasting kiss to Cordelia’s lips. Queenie clears her throat and the two women finally separate. “Elizabeth’s agreed to help us,” Cordelia says, her eyes orgasm-bright.

“Good,” Queenie says. “Let’s get moving, lesbians, we don’t have all day.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> this is the product of me listening to a lot of Halestorm and wondering why the Countess never got the girlfriend she deserved


End file.
